


Baby, Love Me Lights Out

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Resolved Insecurities, San Diego Comic-Con 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen divulges too much about his and Misha’s relationship, which wouldn’t be so problematic if they weren’t on stage at Nerd HQ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, Love Me Lights Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mnwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnwood/gifts).



> The title is a lyric from the song "XO" by Beyoncé.

“It’s embarrassing how easily Jensen can fluster me,” Misha says. He grins at the crowd he’s worked into a tizzy, and whatever he adds next is drowned out by Jared honking a laugh into his mic.

“Your response to that, Jensen?” Zach’s voice manages to cut through all the noise, and Jensen can hear the amused smile before he sees it.

He clears his throat to buy some time, tries to think of an answer past the buzzing cloud in his mind. That extra shot of whiskey wasn’t a smart idea at all, but big cons like these still stress him out and, well, Jared had just been so persuasive. He’s _always_ persuasive when it comes to alcohol and Jensen can’t believe he hasn’t learned his lesson after ten years.

“Uh, well.” Jensen isn’t sure what expression he’s making at the moment but it draws another laugh from the audience so he keeps it there. “Yeah, I’ll admit I mess with him a lot,” he says. They’ve told this story a couple of times before. He knows the lines, it’s just a matter of connecting them to his mouth.

“All he has to do is make this one face,” Jared prompts, clearly having noticed his pause. It is, of course, the exact nudge he needs and Jensen nods back a thanks as he goes on. “Yeah, it’s just a little-” he lowers his mic to make a quick, come-hither face toward the audience. He hears Zach bark out a laugh and spots Misha fondly shaking his head.

He takes that as a cue to look at his friend, their eyes meeting over the tiny table between their chairs. Misha’s cheeks are a bit flushed from the stage lights, his hair neater than what Jensen would prefer, but he looks good - great, even - all tan and rested and happy. The sight helps Jensen finally relax, gives him the gentle push to finish the anecdote.

“I just do that face and he’s gone,” he laughs, his gaze still locked on Misha. “I try to be sympathetic but he makes it too easy.” He watches Misha grin at that, nose crinkling like it does when the reaction is most genuine, and the sentences tumble out like an invisible gate has opened behind his lips.

“And when he breaks, it becomes like this need to keep it up. Because I really want to see that smile again. I love h... um, it.”

Very few times in his life has Jensen experienced his ‘world slowing down to a halt.’ But now, as Misha quirks an eyebrow in disbelief - and Jared chokes on his water - Jensen feels a _terrible_ rush of heat to his face and his hand is suddenly clammy where it clutches around his mic. Misha’s lips, meanwhile, are slowly, _slowly_ curling upward, one corner first and then the other and it’s _maddening_ how attractive it is. Jensen stares, completely thrown by his own slip, while his mouth dries up for an entirely different reason. He’s left hopelessly speechless either way.

“I, uh, can’t say I blame you there,” Zach says. He’s trying to speak over the din of the crowd and they thankfully quiet at the sound of his voice. “I mean, Misha’s a _dreamy_ guy, am I right?”

People cheer and whistle in response and Jensen figures it’s time to tear his eyes away. Misha drops his eyes first to presumably give him an out; Jensen thanks him silently and accepts.

Zach, veteran host that he is, eases them through a transition with, “I’d be useless if I had to film with Misha. Those _eyes_ , are you kidding? Anyone ever tell you that they’d like to swim in your eyes, man?”

Jensen grabs a water bottle for the sake of having something to stare at. Beside him, Misha replies, “Swim, dive, snorkel... I’ve heard it all.”

The slim silver lining is that there are just ten minutes left in the panel, and Jensen doesn’t speak again save for a harmless question about Dean’s ideal vacation. Mark helps him out this time by chiming in with Dean and Crowley riding teacups at Disneyland, and then it’s an enthusiastic blur of screams and hugs as they’re ushered off the stage down the stairs. 

Before they part, Zach squeezes his shoulder, a ‘don’t know the whole story but hang in there’ sort of gesture. It’s laced with a degree of pity and only makes him feel worse as he flees from the hall through the back.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The hotel is a welcome respite, and he sinks to the floor with a groan. He leans against the bed, blanching at the thought of the panel hitting YouTube. He’s sitting there with his face pressed into his knees when he hears a blip and the door clicks open.

“When did I give you a key?” he asks without looking up. He wonders just how bad he’s got it that he can tell who it is by the sound of his footfall.

“You didn’t,” Misha replies, thoroughly calm and composed. “Clif did,” he explains and there’s rustling as he settles somewhere on the floor in front of Jensen.

“Not even gonna look at me, huh?” Misha asks, and as much as Jensen wishes to hide himself forever, the softness in Misha’s voice stirs him to do otherwise.

He raises his head, still reluctant, his eyes the last to lift up. Misha is close, cross-legged, hands resting in his lap, his smile filled with the special brand of patience he reserves for Jensen.

It makes Jensen sigh, deep, low, and pained.

“I screwed up,” he finally says, and Misha sighs as well though it’s more indulgent and perhaps less burdened.

“It’s fine, Jensen. We’ve said worst things.”

“Have we?”

“I compared working with you to riding a horse,” Misha shrugs, and it’s almost startling, the laugh that bubbles out of Jensen’s chest.

“True,” he goes along, only to frown again when he realizes that this isn’t- It’s totally- “But Mish, this is completely different. I basically told everyone that I...” the sentence tapers and he huffs in frustration.

“You said you like to see me smile,” Misha supplies. His tone is amused yet his gaze is utterly tethering in its focus. “So what, Jen? You want to see me happy. Nothing wrong with that.”

“ _Mish_ ,” Jensen growls, because for Christ’s sake, that’s not what he meant and Misha knows it. For a minute, they just sit there silently, the tension palpable as they stare at each other. Misha waits, expression more poker-faced than ever.

“Mish, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You _know_ that I- I’m...” Jensen stops, still nervous to voice it all out loud. He worries his lower lip until he assumes it’s apple-red, just like his cheeks.

Misha’s eyes have softened, watching Jensen try to retreat back into himself. The way he looks at him makes Jensen feel like he could cry, maybe a bit.

“You don’t have to say it,” Misha says, pushing a hand through Jensen’s hair. It’s not the first time he’s done this and Jensen’s craved it, how nice it is. He leans into the touch and lets his eyes fall closed.

“I want to,” he murmurs. “It isn’t fair to you that I keep... You deserve to hear it, is all.”

Misha hums and it isn’t clear whether he agrees with him or not, but he doesn’t stop petting his hair and this is the most comforted Jensen’s felt in weeks. “It’s not about what I deserve,” he says. Jensen’s protest melts at a scratch of his fingertips. “You can tell me when you’re ready. I’ve waited a long time, Jensen. I can wait a little more.”

He probably intended to sound reassuring, to mollify, but there’s also a hint of something resigned and it’s that resignation that drives Jensen to snap. He grabs Misha’s wrist and wrenches it from his hair. His eyes are hurt when they meet startled blue and the questions rush out of him in a single harsh breath.

“How can you be like this? How are you so unaffected!” he demands. “Doesn’t it bother you that I can’t keep up with you all the time? Why do you always wait, Mish? Why do you even-” _Even love me_.

He’s trembling.

“Jensen,” Misha breathes, shifting closer till his knees touch the tops of Jensen’s feet. He twists his wrist so it’s him holding Jensen’s hand instead, and he pulls it, palm forward, back to his chest right over his heart.

Jensen’s eyes widen and goosebumps rise beneath his hand.

“Jesus,” he whispers, at the pulse hammering away fast, fast, fast in Misha’s chest. It’s like he’s caught him mid-run, all adrenaline and jackrabbit heartbeat.

“I’m very affected,” Misha says with a breathy, adoring laugh. “It’s impossible not to be around you.” He brims with fondness.

“Well, just don’t... pass out on me,” Jensen frowns. It deepens when Misha merely laughs again, delighted. “Hey, that wasn’t a joke-”

“You’re also one of very few people I’m wholly comfortable with.” Misha holds Jensen’s gaze as if to make sure he comprehends. “I don’t get how that works exactly, but... you turn my world upside down,” he smiles, “in a good way.”

“Oh.” And while Jensen always feels a bit ineloquent in Misha’s presence, that declaration leaves him at a loss for words, his own heart racing quick inside its cage.

He ducks his head from a sudden bout of shyness and grumbles, “Since when do _you_ give Hallmark a run for their money?”

Misha’s smiling, he can tell; he can tell a lot of things even without looking at him now.

“Since I met someone who makes me sentimental,” Misha says.

Jensen blushes and wonders how absurdly red he must be. “I’m sentimental,” he peers at Misha. “I mean, I can be when I want to... and I _do_ want to, you know, with you.”

Misha smiles at him crookedly and twines their fingers loosely together. “You even rhymed,” he teases lightly, but it’s easy to see that he was touched by the words. “Guess I better brush up on my poetry.”

“I’m expecting iambic pentameter,” Jensen laughs, and with all the tension now gone the room feels warm again, almost cozy.

“Noted,” Misha says as he releases Jensen’s hand. He then leans forward to press a kiss in Jensen’s hair. “Should we go to lunch? We’ve got some time.”

He rises to his feet and extends a hand again to help him up. Jensen takes the offered hand but doesn’t move right away, considering. “Let’s just stay here?” he suggests eventually. “The room service looks okay.”

Misha’s eyes crinkle and he honestly looks beautiful, unfairly so.

“Sure,” he replies like there’s absolutely nothing else he’d rather do, and he laughs when Jensen pulls him down to the floor, letting himself be led into a kiss once he’s there. It’s closer to a caress to begin with, like a first kiss that’s tentative, beautiful in its tenderness. Jensen sighs at Misha’s broad, careful hands, which frame his face in a way that bespeaks adoration.

“I love you,” Misha says, the words slightly muffled by their kiss but not any less heated, any less gorgeous. When they pull apart it’s Jensen cupping Misha’s jaw in his palm, brushing fingertips over day-old stubble as he says, “You make me really happy. And I _do_. You know that, right?”

Misha smiles and kisses his “yes” on Jensen’s lips.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

When Jensen does tell him, they’re back in Italy, following a cobblestoned path to their hotel. They’re sated with dinner and music and each other’s company, and Jensen studies Misha’s cheekbones, how the streetlights dance their merry way across them. They make his eyes look brilliant, a blue that cannot be dimmed, and standing there between centuries-old buildings beneath the moonlight, Jensen reaches for Misha’s hand to hold for a moment, then finally tells him.

“I love you too.”

Misha’s answering smile could light up the city, Jensen thinks, and he’s already breathless by the time Misha kisses him with both arms tight around his waist.

Back at the hotel, he tells Misha again, inside the elevator going up to their room.

Then a third time under the covers.

A fourth time the following morning.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Mish.”

He used to think the best part was hearing the sentiment from someone else. But now, as he kisses the words into Misha’s skin, he realizes that the best part is being able to say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable link here](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/120207153530/jensen-misha-baby-love-me-lights-out)
> 
> Please do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


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